Originally Written: January 25, 2017
Revised and Edited: November 29, 2017
Revised and Edited Again Because I'm a Neat Freak: February 22, 2019
Author's Note: My, my, my, what have we here? An unpopular pairing? Yes, yes; I've always found these two cute together and I simply couldn't help myself from writing a little something about them. Please enjoy.
If you are the original artist of the artwork used for the cover and wish for me to remove it, please PM me.
Faith in His Veins
Now was the first time Siegbert recalled being utterly stranded, afraid, and helpless. There he was, wandering through the labyrinth of tunnels and turns dubbed the caves of Mokushu. Gudrun, his horse, had taken a shuriken to one of his sturdy legs, which suddenly made him not-so-sturdy. Not sturdy enough, at least, to shoulder a rider as heavy as Siegbert himself. He had been left with no choice but to dismount and guide his obedient companion through the ominousness of their alien battlefield, lance in hand. Their slowness isolated them from the rest of the army, who marched onward, never noticing their absence.
That was why he was stranded.
Taunted by every rustle.
Every heave.
Every creak.
Every thud.
Never had Siegbert fought in such an environment; his Deeprealm consisted heavily of marshes and swamps when he strayed from town, which happened to be often. He and Gudrun were well studied in such places thanks to their several outings against mysterious enemies, but where they stood now did not bare even the slightest reminiscence to their comfort zone. Rock walls constricted them, and they were guided by nothing but guesswork. Every second ripened them into a heartier fruit for their enemies to pluck.
At one point, at the beginning of his isolation, the boy hoped he would, by some miraculous stroke of luck, be able to catch up with the rest of his comrades. Quickly, though, his aspirations became extinguished when he found that several forks along his way did not want to tell him which path they selected. The dirt below him gave him no clues, as both paths were littered with the indentations of traffic. If he found the shapes of hooves in the dirt, he would know where to go, but they had been covered. The army had split, or the enemy lingered some place near. Siegbert did not know the answer, which could prove costly should he be mistaken in his choosing.
He could not stay as he was forever; he had to keep moving. Every second was a second wasted, a second he may want back should he be united with a foul end. Any choice was as good as the other, since he had no idea, nor intuition, that was superior. Out of randomness, he grimly chose to walk the path that eased to the left. It only led to another long corridor just as constricting and uniform as the last. Though intimidated and tempted to succumb to the will of fear, Siegbert continued, Gudrun and lance in tow. He was not sure what good a lance would do against shuriken, his enemy's weapon of choice. Though it was false security the lance gave him, it was security nonetheless. He took to the weapon kindly and held it close as though it had become a friend. Because he happened to already be a friend, he eased the limping Gudrun closer.
Cautious wandering led him further into the caves. Correction: cautious wandering made him more lost. Not even distant sounds of battle could be heard to comfort him. What he would give to hear the ear-piercing shrill of a rallying wyvern or the chilling clangs of war. Anything could ease Siegbert's mind, he thought. Such was why, with each step more he traveled, he gradually grew more desperate than before.
It seemed that Gudrun sensed his fear, as seen by the fact that he released a soft bray. This, at first, startled his master before he turned to look at him. He blinked, sighed, then brought the hand that carried the reigns to the bridge of the beast's nose. He pat him a few times before shielding his eyes.
"Are you nervous too?" he murmured. "Fret not. So long as we whet our caution, we ought to be fine. Hold tight, friend. As soon as this battle is over, the healers will do what they can to help that pitiful wound on your leg."
Gudrun did nothing to respond. Understandable, considering that he was a horse. The most he did do, however, was continue limping by his side as they trudged on.
What Siegbert did not know was that he was followed the entire time. Behind, there lurked a mysterious figure. He armed himself in plates and thick garb, but no matter how much he packed down, his strides spoke not a word. His silent trails would be the reason why, just seconds later, Siegbert felt a shuriken soar and whisper past his prone ear. With widening eyes, he whipped around to find his attacker. To his misfortune, he only turned around to meet his opponent, who had intersected his radius of personal space. In a matter of seconds, the fiend brought one of his stars to his face and bestowed a slash upon his cheek. With a shout, Siegbert stumbled back, but not far. He released the lead of a frightened Gudrun while taking matters into his hands. Before the ninja could inflict any damage more, he grimaced and drove his lance into his gut, all without so much as a second thought.
The attack was enough to force his foe to a screeching halt, but not scot-free; while Siegbert was distracted, assuming victory was his, the enemy brought an additional shuriken from his bag and hurled it at him. This one did not miss like its predecessor, for it drove one of its sharp points into the bullseye marked upon his target's shoulder. The throat would have been a superior target, but perhaps it was agony that skewed his aim.
Siegbert continued to try shoving his weapon deeper into the man, fear covering his face, drenched completely in sweat. Pain meant nothing to him, for he had become too overrun by fear, too overrun by adrenaline, to feel the sensations erupting in his shoulder. He shivered, but the urgency made him want to push farther, farther than he would ever consider with a sane state of mind. To infuriate him, he could not get past whatever stood in the way within the man's stomach, but he milked countless groans from his victim.
The ninja's hands became limp, dropping the few shuriken he had laced between his once healthy fingers. He began breathing slowly, slowly as if he were relaxed, or happy even. At long last, after a chase that had the pole bury itself just a smidgen deeper, the man's back touched the wall. There, leaning against it, he continued to breathe. His eyes, once closed to house pain, slid open suddenly to reveal a sharp pair of brown eyes. Dark irises swirled with mahogany and tree bark. Siegbert wondered if that was always the color of his eyes, even when he was swaddled in his mother's loving arms, reaching for the hand of his father. Those same eyes probably met him every morning when he went to wash his face, for he saw them in the reflection of the water. Those eyes met the ones of someone he loved, or someone he hated. They met a child a lover may have borne, or gazed upon the wonders and disgusts of the world.
It was those eyes that caused him to shiver, gasp, then quickly withdraw his weapon from the man's belly. His breath quivered as he studied the red that drenched the iron point mounted at the crown of his lance, the taut string that held it in place, and the shaft crafted from the corpse of an oak. He stumbled back, mortified by his handiwork.
"First... time in a war... kid?" the man whispered. Red trickled out of his lips to speckle his chin and cheeks.
"Y-You... You talk..." So accustomed had he become to fighting enemies of nightmares, enemies that could and could not be seen. They said no words, nor spewed crimson when opened.
They were not human.
But this one was.
"Of course... I talk, even if it is against the code of my kind..." He groaned suddenly when he hacked up another glob of red. "You look... awful young, and yet... the ripe age to be out here... killing your fellow man..."
"You are not my fellow man."
"How... so?"
"You are of the nation of Mokushu, once a friend of Nohr, but now a traitor."
"Ah, I see... a fellow man... is a man of... similar... nationality... to you..." He chuckled slightly. "Sounds just like... a Nohrian.. to me..." He lifted his head slightly. "Tell me... How is a fellow man a... man of similar nationality... and not... a fellow man... in humanity, Nohrian?"
Taken back, Siegbert stepped away. He continued to stare at his victim in horror, watching as the blood trickled from his wound and pooled on the floor not too far from his lounging form. It grew wider. And wider. Siegbert feared it would harass his boots and haunt him so long as he continued to wear them.
"We share the same ideals and goals. The same blood and appreciations. The same culture. That is what makes a nation and what binds its people."
The man cracked a smile. It sent chills down his spine.
"So educated and insightful... child... You must be... in line... for Nohr's throne. Son of... Xander... Son of Garon. Your... armor, so violet... and your eyes... so cold... You are Siegbert of Nohr..."
"H-How do you-"
"Do you know... why you are at war... with Hoshido, Siegbert?" the man inquired. "Have you ever... questioned why things are... Why all the blood? Why all the hostility?"
Siegbert shook his head recklessly.
"I am obeying my responsibilities: if another nation comes against my own, I am called to defend it. I am Nohr's rightful protector by birth, so I am but simply fulfilling my duties."
"What if I am... to tell you... that it was your father's father that came... against Hoshido first? In greedy pursuit of conquest... King Garon ambushed Emperor Sumeragi, killed his many men... and stole one of his children... then used that child to slay Empress Mikoto years later..." He coughed again. "Your bloodline... is tainted... little prince... having such an immediate history... Do you condone these things? This... shedding of innocent blood...?"
"Never." Siegbert's grip on his lance strengthened as he pounced on the man. He avenged his injury by driving his weapon into the man's shoulder. After a scream, he continued to roar. "I will not tolerate the slander of my father and my father's father! My father, my country, my bloodline... it is all good. I will defend that goodness with my all!"
Though he had been impaled once again, the man could only burst into a fit of insane laughter. Those eyes, those eyes that once struck Siegbert with such conviction, lost their humanity.
"So much like your blood, young one... You are the splitting image of your father. Your golden locks of royalty... The eyes that passionately... seek what is just in their perception... The bellows... of a man that demands respect..." Siegbert did not notice how his eyes wandered softly to the side. Siegbert did not notice how, afterward, his grin appeared to spread to deepen its wickedness. "Run... Prince..."
Siegbert should have noticed.
Shuriken, like a river's infuriated current, flew out of nowhere and pelted his body, each drawing a painful howl. Each part of the side of his body, ranging from his arms to his flank to his thigh, became covered in shuriken like the hairs of a cactus. He abandoned the lance inside the man to stumble away, almost unable to move his entire right side. When he lifted his head to see his attackers, his eyes widened to find several ninjas more. They rushed toward him from one of the narrow veins of the caves and dispersed into the opening, where they continued to rain stars on the boy until he was brought down. Submitted to the dirty ground, Siegbert huffed and moaned in agony. Gudrun, with an intense bray, strayed from the action and mingled within a corner.
"That's enough," muttered one of the ninjas. As he commanded, the rest of his gang halted with their attacks and went to glaring at their opponent. Siegbert, becoming desperate, began hissing swears beneath his breath as he struggled to move. He was far too handicapped by bolts of lightning that reigned inside his body to get far. He surrendered soon into his worthless endeavors. He became still, even as the gang surrounded him. One in particular knelt at his side.
"You fight a wrong fight, Nohrian. Hoshido did nothing of fault."
"I won't listen to you, for you speak lies I do not believe. Never will I betray, nor doubt, my land."
"Truly so? If you don't believe what I say, why do you take it with such sincerity? Why do you become so upset to hear it?"
"I know they are lies."
"No... You have been questioning your lineage for a long time. Deep down, you know I speak the truth. You have received the confirmation you did not wish to hear, so you reject it." He rose as he gave his men a serious glance. A motion was all he needed to do to get them to move. "The boy won't listen, so we should do the next best thing. Kill him and seize the horse. It will be useful once it is healed."
Mortified, Siegbert made attempts once again to crawl away, but they would also be for naught; his body came to a cease when several pieces of metal more began striking and sticking to him.
He yelled.
He screamed harder than he had ever screamed before, but deep down he knew nobody would be there to save him. He had been left behind by the army on accident, bound to sink into obscurity until the battle ended. Only then would his fellow comrades take notice of his absence, and it would be much too late.
But one heard him.
Thunder rumbled.
The ground quaked.
The sounds of footsteps, heavy footsteps, boomed their way to the other side of the wall.
There sounded a crash.
Another one.
And another.
Each left the wall nearby in a further state of ruin until the cracks that spread across its surface submitted to the power of one final blow. Its sturdiness crumbled, soon violated by a monstrous beast of black, magenta, and teal. Its humongous arms slammed against the ground in fury before releasing a wailing howl. Baring its menacing claws, it began rushing toward the crowd that surrounded the fallen Siegbert.
"Have mercy, Amaterasu!" one shouted. "It's a Wolfskin!"
"Kill it! It's with the Nohrians!"
"No! Run!"
None of the crowd could make a decision in time before the beast thundered up to them to take swipes. Just one stroke of its claws proved to be lethal. If one swipe did not kill them, a follow up did. Anything its opponents tried against it, such as tossing their weapons, did nothing but bounce off the creature's thick hide. While the ninjas wordlessly watched the beast, baffled at its might, powerful claws continued to plow through their numbers. Some were thrown across the opening, defeated before they slammed against the wall, while others were crushed beneath the flat soles of its feet. One, an unfortunate soul, was consumed whole.
Though he should have been relieved, Siegbert watched the confrontation to its end, drowning in terror. It was not a long battle at all, for the monster stole the life of his every enemy at record speeds. The floor, like the border of the beast's mouth, were soaked in blood. The walls were soaked in blood. Siegbert was soaked in blood.
The stench drove him to illness within seconds, which was why he, while gagging, set a hand over his mouth and nose. Moisture spilled from either of his eyes, once cold, but now frightened. He did not move, even when the monster, the huge, wolfish creature, approached him. With one of its giant paws, it gently lifted him. Fangs born, it looked down at its palm with a pair of glowing red eyes, then steadily began bringing him closer to its mouth. Siegbert would have risen or spoken to warn the beast. They fought on the same side; comrades. This creature could not eat its comrades...
But the pain was so great, he could not bring himself to try.
Fortune blessed him, for he would have been chomped to bits had matters not taken a more favorable turn. Instead of gnashing its fangs to consume him alive, the Wolfskin gaped its nostrils wide to give him a trio of heavy sniffs. It growled with satisfaction and gave him a slight lick with the tip of its tongue.
It seemed to not be in the cards for Siegbert to die that day... But what he did not know was that, within days to come, he would find himself mistaken.
Siegbert indeed died, never to be brought back.
The blind faithfulness of a child.
The dignity, the respect.
The pride.
When he awoke again, he found himself within the walls of a tent. With bandages snaked all over his pitiful body, he remained helplessly immobile. If he tried hard enough, he could manage to have his head budge slightly, where he took note of the lantern burning at his side. The tent was larger than those in which he and his fellow soldiers slept, for it stood tall enough to allow standing, walls decorated by charts of anatomy and recipes.
The medical tent, he came to conclude.
He did not have long to let his eyes wander, for just moments after coming to, he felt a hand gently run through his golden locks. At the price of a wince, he turned to see his visitor. He found himself somewhat delighted to find a woman sitting at his side. Much like himself, she too had hair of yellow, baring eyes bluer than the depths of a treacherous ocean. She boasted the gifts of lovely pale skin, a wealthy chest, and delicately powerful hands. She was a truly beautiful woman to behold, better known by the name of Charlotte. He happened to know that woman well.
"Oh, my darling Siegbert. You had me terrified, going out there and getting lost," she scolded softly. He managed to grow a slight smile, but he failed raise his hand to cup it over hers. As much as he wanted there to be, there remained no will within him to cultivate the strength. He had no choice but to settle with a whisper.
"Hello, mother," he greeted, watching as she rose from her seat. She began scurrying around the room in search of something. She did not seem to search for anything specific, but curiosity plagued him nonetheless.
"Do you need anything, dear? What can I get you? A damp cloth? Some food? Medicine?"
"I need not a thing. Please, worry not for me."
"Psh. There you go again, sounding just like your father, all independent and stuff." She gave up on searching for anything to aid him and sat herself beside his bed again, this time with a pinch more sincerity. "I'd give you a massage like we always do, but those pesky rats got you all over. I don't think there was a single place the medics said wasn't wounded." She smiled slightly as she reached out to take an unscathed cheek. She then began to pinch it a few times, or maybe she was supposed to be rubbing him. "Well, everywhere except here. I guess I'll have to settle with that."
He remained still in the silence, feeling the tips of his mother's immaculate fingers bury themselves into the stiff muscles that created his jaw. The longer he stared at the roof of the tent in the silence, the duller his pitiful eyes stooped. He could feel every heartbeat and every gaping wound. It spiraled him to a deeper state of misery until he saw darkness swirling around his head. It glared at him menacingly, lustful and hungry, as its tongue ran along its chops. He felt the need to talk, otherwise it may have consumed him.
"Has my father come to visit while I rested?"
"No. He's been busy, but believe me when I say he's been wanting to come see you. The last battle was a wake-up call for us, so Lord Corrin wants us to have longer training hours every day. We nearly lost the entire battle." A chuckle roused from her mouth. "We probably nearly lost because you got separated from the rest of the army. Of course, I'm sure it was the worst on you... All alone, surrounded by nothing but enemies... My, were you lucky that the wolf girl came just in time to save you."
Wolf girl... A reference to Velouria, the daughter of Keaton. He was not sure who it was that came to his rescue at the time of the encounter, seeing that father and daughter looked almost identical in beast form. In retrospect, though, this newly acquired information made the most sense, but it too harbingered confusion. Siegbert and Velouria were good friends, so a natural conclusion would suppose she would come at his beck and call. However, never had he thought she was capable of the savagery she displayed. Keaton was the most infamous for being ruthless, not his daughter. It made him wonder: had Velouria, known for her apathy, become as furious as she behaved?
Then again, it may have just been that this was his first battle with the army. What he witnessed was more than likely a side of her she reserved, perhaps restrained, for her enemies.
The scenery, making a rerun through his mind, made him feel ill again.
But that was not what made him rage boil inside his blood so suddenly. He could feel it, the heat that sapped his stream of moisture until it became nothing but thick, gooey molasses. It reeked, the smell of waterless blood. The scent revived a grimace, and he turned his face.
"Mother..." he whispered later. "Are you Nohrian?"
Charlotte halted with her petting.
"Why, of course. Born and raised. What makes you ask all of a sudden?"
"No reason."
"You have no savvy when it comes to lying, son; nobody asks those kinds of questions out of the blue. What's on your mind? Lay it on me."
"I said it was nothing."
Slowly, Charlotte retracted her hand and frowned. It was as if his anger had rubbed off on her, but only slightly. Had she been injected with all he housed deep within his bosom, the tent would have been whisked into flames and flying with the wind.
"Son. You know you aren't supposed to hide things from me."
"If I don't want to tell you, I'm not going to tell you."
"Watch your tone, young man; this is your mother you're speaking to. What's gotten into you?" She paused in the midst of the tension, sure to take a deep breath. Afterward, she shook her head. "Never mind. That was your first battle after all. The things your young eyes must've seen... They're things that change people forever. It's natural for you to be upset." It surprised Siegbert to see her rise, stretch, then begin to head toward the exit. "I can't persuade you to confide in me, but I'm certain your father can. I'll have him here the soonest I can get him."
He was not sure if the statement was a threat or an attempt to help him in his plight. What she did not know, however, was the fact that the sight of his father, the tall and powerful Xander, furthered his descent into the realm of damnation. The mere sight of him, the golden locks of royalty, the eyes that passionately sought what was just in their perception, the bellows that demanded respect...
Except Xander did not bellow at the sight of his injured son, but neither did he smile. His face remained cold by the front of business, hardened by professionalism, as he made his way across the room. It was not a large room in which they found themselves, hence why Xander sat himself at Siegbert's side within seconds of arrival.
Siegbert could not look him in the eye. Not because he sat in too much pain to move, but because he had not the dignity, nor the worthiness. He pursued the struggles of avoiding him as though he too were a beast that slithered from beneath his bed, baring his fangs. Xander: a sight much too frightening for marveling, a sight too glorious to possibly face, not even to worship.
"Good evening, Siegbert." His voice, like a lion, sounded with such nobility, such control. Siegbert once wanted that voice, but suddenly... so suddenly... he felt repelled by its every decibel, word, and shape. He cringed as he looked away. What he would give to drive out the tears that built in his eyes. His eyelids offered a compromise: he could hide the tears if he closed them, but his father would surely know what he hid if he did. Regardless, he took the offer gladly.
"Hello, father..." he responded pitifully.
"It is good to see you are in decent shape after the caves of Mokushu," Xander muttered grimly. "It was a fierce encounter."
"Truly."
"Why do you avoid my gaze, son? Look upon those who speak to you. Was that not a basic of the etiquette you've been taught?"
His eyes slid open. The tears had dried, thankfully, but the threat of resurrection constantly loomed. When he felt their return, he spitefully wished them away.
"Forgive me," he whispered timidly.
"You have all my forgiveness. Now, tell me: would you care to explain your stoop in mood? According to your mother, your attitude has changed much since the last time either of us saw you, which would be when the army divided in the caves. I am always here to listen to your troubles, Siegbert. That is one of the many duties I acknowledged upon becoming a father."
Siegbert's eyes slid away, only to promptly be lassoed and tugged back to the stern face of his father. A marvelous creature, that man; he degraded him without saying a word.
"There is no need to worry, father. I am of the age to begin shouldering my own burdens, not throwing their weight on my mother and father. I need to grow."
"True, but what your young mind may not comprehend is that independence can stunt growth just as much as it can condone it. Though I am full grown with a child of my own, I have no shame in admitting that I have sometimes confided with my mother. You should feel no different."
"Please, father..." he sighed. "See that these issues are my own."
"I find the question you asked of your mother particularly curious," Xander mentioned. In doing so, he shifted his position in his chair. His judgmental eyes carefully surveyed the mummified body of his son. "Why does it matter so suddenly that she is Nohrian?"
"I was simply inquiring."
"Were you told something by your attackers, Siegbert?" He continued relentlessly. The power of his tone pressed his son, visibly distraught, to a state of misery. "If that is true, explain to me immediately. It is my job to settle whatever brings you doubt or disgrace."
"Father, please..."
"Siegbert." How his tone boomed without even raising. It made his underling cower. Seldom had he ever been this difficult with his father, and his father certainly did not have a tolerance for it. That might have been why they were such a foreign sight in a such a foreign position. "Give me an answer. I don't care what that answer is. You can lie to me and suffer the eventual consequences, or you can be truthful to me now. Whichever you wish to face is entirely up to you."
What pressure. What expectations.
Siegbert had to lie.
"Nothing was said to me. I am simply unnerved."
It was a wrong path to take, for down its gravel trail awaited destruction and heartache. He walked this road alone, not even accompanied by Gudrun. The loneliness proved to be such an unforgiving feeling, for it left him uneasy with each step and each twist down a winding path. Once or twice, he considered turning around; perhaps he was not deep enough in the forlorn woods to be lost. He may find a way out to make a safe recovery.
But how could he confess to his father that he lied?
He was the worst son to ever take the royal Nohrian name. To ever call himself a son. To ever walk the earth.
The sludge occupying his veins ceased to move.
His anger tormented him every night, more than the injuries of a hundred shuriken could ever inflict upon the hull of his vessel. He saw eyes appear through the darkness in the nighttime. Dark irises swirled with mahogany and tree bark. Siegbert wondered if that was always the color of his eyes, even when he was swaddled in his mother's loving arms, reaching for the hand of his father. Those same eyes probably met him every morning when he went to wash his face, for he saw them in the reflection of the water. Those eyes met the ones of someone he loved, or someone he hated. They met a child a lover may have borne, or gazed upon the wonders and disgusts of the world.
"What if I am to tell you that it was your father's father that came against Hoshido first? In greedy pursuit of conquest, King Garon ambushed Emperor Sumeragi , killed his many men, and stole one of his children, then used that child to slay Empress Mikoto years later. Your bloodline is tainted, little prince, having such an immediate history. Do you condone these things? This shedding of innocent blood?"
"No. Already have I stated that I do not."
"But open your wounds, Siegbert. Watch the blood flow out of you and trickle onto the earth. Do you feel its fiery temperature? Your blood? Can you feel the darkness, the wickedness of King Garon? Your father shares the same blood. Is he no different than his father? Are you no different than your father who is no different than his father?"
"My father is good. He is a good man."
"And look at those who surround you. Your mother. Your retainer. Your friends. Your allies. Open them and you will find the same fiery blood that rages within you. Nohrians , a greedy and bloodthirsty race. Your kind has killed more innocents than the stars can count."
"Silence."
"To be Nohrian ..."
"I said silence!"
"Is to be Garon..."
"Quiet!"
"To be Garon..."
"No!"
"Is to be..."
He awoke.
A handful of weeks had Siegbert well enough to purchase liberation from the medical tent, free to pursue his business. Granted, he could not do terribly much with how pitiful his entire body remained with its stinging and gauze, but he could manage to get himself from place to place. It was miraculous, the number of people that waved to him as he passed. More often than not, they stopped their daily toil to check on him, make a comment on how quickly he healed, and carry on with their day.
They were all Nohrian with Nohrian blood coursing through their bodies.
It drove him deeper into the woods.
During his wandering about camp, one happened to coming skipping up to him with a call of his name. The volume alarmed him at first, but quickly recollected himself when he saw her nearing. Bright brown eyes met his within seconds, and before him she came to a screeching halt, grinned, and gave him a slight bow.
"Good day, Future Lord Siegbert," she, the chipper Soleil, greeted. "I'm glad to see you're out of that stuffy ol' tent. How're you feeling?"
He blinked a time or two before letting his eyes wander away, only to immediately recall his father scolding him for breaking eye contact with the people that spoke to him. He ignored the memory.
"I am fine. Sore, but fine."
"That's great. Your horse is doing well too. Shigure's so concerned about getting him back to good health he won't leave him alone. You're lucky he's in good hands." She paused when she happened to notice the frustration building in his eyes. This, of course, was followed by another smile. "Aw, you don't look so happy. I'd imagine so; I'd be pretty crabby too if I were stuck in a tent all day. You probably have lots of energy pent up inside you, so we should get you to blow it off. Wanna come spar with me?"
Siegbert felt his tongue run nervously over the top of his lips. At that moment, his eyes darkened.
"Soleil... I don't believe now is the best time..."
"Aw, why not?"
"Because... I have not been feeling like myself lately."
"That's nonsense." She took him by the wrist and began to insist on his following. She was a strong girl, so it did not seem that he had much of a choice in the matter. Begrudgingly, he followed after her, but not with a smile; no, he drowned. He felt the life being choked out of him. He felt his soul being crippled and dissolving.
He took a sword when it was handed to him. It was an awfully generic sword, much unlike the blade of his father. Siegfried radiated with power and mysteries... And the more he lingered on it, he realized it also radiated with darkness. The violet and red that swirled around that blade brewed so deep and thick, so frightening and wicked. The shrill it made as it screamed across the battlefield echoed in the banks of his memory. They were the shrills of banshees desperately clawing their way out of the deepest pit in Hell. The same pit from which Siegfried harvested its demonic power.
He hated that sword. And to think it would someday be his when his father grew wrinkly and old...
"Come at me, Future Lord Siegbert! I've been training a whole bunch with dad while you were snoozing away in the medical tent. I'm a heck a lot better than I was in our last match!"
He looked up from the generic sword that was not Siegfried. Meeting his eyes was Soleil, who stood across from him in the midst of an unoccupied training ground. She looked pumped, as proven by the antsy movements of her feet, the freshly polished pauldron on her shoulder, her boots, and leather gear. For some reason, he did not feel as excited for the encounter as he should have been.
Instead, all he could focus on was her eyes. They flowed with a rich shade of brown, but with no mahogany. Her cheeks, unlike one of his, were spotless. Beneath them flowed that crimson stream.
When he began charging at her, he realized that he had grown to hate that crimson stream.
How he hated that stream so.
How befuddled that stream embossed his vision, once so clear.
How vague, that stream.
Soleil effortlessly dodged his initial stroke, as he expected from her; she was far too predictable for his standards, which was why he immediately tilted his blade at an angle. She fell right into his setup, for she pressed against it during her evasion. A flush spread across her face as she popped a quick joke about herself and backed away. In doing so, she too brought up her own blade. Hers was a slim and nimble breed of iron that allowed her to be quick, unlike the heavier blade of his own. Nonetheless, he successfully blocked every attempt she made at striking him.
The more he blocked, the more his thoughts deepened.
He went back to the stains that spread across the floors of Mokushu. He laid there once, bathing in it. The stench revived itself in his unsuspecting nose, causing him to flinch. His distraction became the prime opportunity for Soleil to seize, and, being a strategic fighter, she did not waste the opportunity to swoop in for the strike. Unfortunately, she swooped in a tad too close. Though she intended to give him a poke on the thick hide covering his chest, the edge of her sword happened to graze across the tip of his thumb.
Siegbert hissed and stumbled back, studying his wound. Biting her lip, Soleil eased closer, nervous.
"O-Oh... Sorry about that. Clumsy me, right?" She tried to lighten the mood with a manufactured laugh.
But Siegbert did not hear it.
Instead, he could only hear his heartbeat. It throbbed so painfully loud. It busted his ears. Like his thumb, blood began to trickle out of them as well.
His blood.
His blood that spewed from the nick on his skin.
It was red...
So red...
And Nohrian.
He finally lost himself in the woods.
Siegbert lifted his eyes, wide eyed and bewildered. The sight threw Soleil off. For once, she appeared to be worried. It was the very reason why she began to back away.
"F-Future... Siegbert? You heard me, right? I-I didn't mean to do that on purpose. You aren't mad... are you?" She grew fearful when his face hardened. His was a face that had never been seen on his father, even in his most livid of states. No. Siegbert surpassed his father in fury, and mercy lost its meaning. He approached Soleil slowly, taking cautious, perhaps pensive, steps forth. Not a thing would foreshadow his thoughts, nor movements.
Soleil called out to him when he came rushing toward her in a matter of seconds. He released a roar, the bellow of a man who demanded respect. His eyes burned with fire, no longer brown. His pupils, if they even remained, shrunk to the size of a mouser's. The blade in his hands did not hesitate to bring itself up and home toward his opponent's head. What it would meet upon landing, however, was the shrill of metal clashing upon metal. When he looked down, he would find it resting upon the pauldron strapped to Soleil's shoulder, which she held up in her defense. Fear clouded in her eyes as she cowered beneath him.
Every time she attempted to get away, he slashed at her again and again, always landing his hits on her shield. She called out to him, hoping to reach through his delusions as she continued to block his every hit. Siegbert's blows, one after another, became heavier. His screaming heightened and lengthened, overpowering every shout with which Soleil attempted to reason.
The shrills induced headaches, but that was the least of her concerns. With his strikes coming with lethal force, she felt her shoulder threatening to give way. Every blow brought pain, which made her question if she could last another one of the lashes raining down upon her at lightening speeds. She forced herself to drop her weapon and use that hand to reinforce her arm, but by that point it did little; Siegbert's force evolved to the equivalent to the beatings of an infuriated beast's.
It was only a matter of time until she could feel her shoulder grow numb. The pauldron got knocked out of the way, leaving her vulnerable. Terror clouded in her eyes as she looked up. Above her stood Siegbert, raising his hefty sword one last time. It towered over his head, which only added to the speed at which it would come crashing down. Though she knew not the reason why, Soleil closed her eyes. Her end arrived; ended by her own lord.
Or had it?
Just before the blade could strike Soleil dead, the unforeseen fist of a ginormous hand knocked Siegbert away. The force sent him flying. He skidded across the ground after landing, and he tumbled in the grass. The sword fled from his hand and hid itself in the greenery.
When Soleil opened her eyes, she would gaze with shock as a tall beast- a Wolfskin- thundered past her, hunkered down on all fours. It tore its way over to the boy who lay motionless on the ground. When it stopped, it hovered over him, but only to ingest the largest breath it could house. It released a bellow in Siegbert's face, a bellow far louder than Soleil's pleas or metal clashing upon metal.
The noise awoke Siegbert, and his eyes widened from their lifelessness. Fury became replaced by shock as he gazed into the glowing red eyes of a wolfish face. The bridge of its nose wrinkled, and, on either side of his shoulders, it buried its claws in the dirt, aching for carnage. It restrained itself and executed its fury in a growl.
"What the hell were you thinking? You almost killed her!"
Through the raspiness of thickened vocal chords, its voice was difficult to decipher, but Siegbert happened to know that tone well. Velouria again interfered, this time turning her immense strength against him. He knew full and well what she was capable of. What he knew frightened him into stuttering in the silence with a trembling jaw.
"I-I..." His eyes darted to the side, where he could see Soleil standing amongst the grass in the distance. As she discarded her pauldron, she rolled her arm around her shoulder. Her hand, in the meantime, gave her soreness a handful of rubs. "I don't know what I was... what got ahold of me..."
It terrified him to find Velouria's mouth easing closer to his body. When he tried to scramble away, he found his flank to be unbearably sore from Velouria's mighty blow. Such a powerful hit on top of nearly one hundred shuriken kisses left him almost immobilized, which gave Velouria ample time to angrily snag him with her teeth. She did not seize him to eat him, though; she simply grabbed his clothing and lifted his weak body. Though not as alarmed as he should have been, Siegbert still tried to escape her grasp. Every attempt left him fruitless.
Amused, but still unsettled, Soleil watched the two as the beast began to prowl away. She then cleared her throat.
"Hey! Where're you taking him?" she inquired hastily, considering to rush after them.
"I'm taking him for a walk. If anyone asks, we'll be back later."
Baffled, Soleil remained behind, watching as the two disappeared into the distance.
Siegbert remained uncomfortable the entire ride to the edge of the castle's grounds. It surprised him greatly to discover that was not where Velouria planned to stop. Instead of returning him to the ground, Velouria continued, even when it meant leaving the protective walls of the castle and consummating with a humble trail. She divorced from that trail soon enough as well, for she favored the thicket of the neighboring forest more. She began to trudge effortlessly through branches, vines, and thorns. Her passenger, on the other hand, cringed at each switch that whacked him in the face and scratched his delicate skin.
The journey continued for a good while, that is until they reached a seemingly random plot of land. It did not look any different than the rest of the forest they had trekked through, but Velouria's actions begged otherwise. She set him down at last. He was too confused to make any further movements from there. Instead of doing anything he normally would have done, such as running away, he looked up at her and her frightening face. Before he could say a word, though, her core began to glow. That glow grew brighter and brighter, bright enough to the point where he had to shield his eyes. When permitted to look again, he found Velouria as he knew her best: a small girl dressed in a hood, decorated by an apathetic face, droopy ears, creamy skin, and a quaint tail.
She did not give him even a glance as she made her way past him, for her eyes busied themselves by staring on the ground.
"Come on. You look stressed, so let's go find you some treasure."
Siegbert, more confused than angry, followed her with his eyes before actually following.
"Why would I need treasure?"
"Didn't I just say? Because you're stressed." She stopped before a pinecone and worked up a smile. Quickly, she bent down and swiped it into her greedy hands. She presented it to him. "When Daddy's mad, all mom and I have to do is take him treasure hunting. He calms down once he finds something nice. Like his pinecone here. Isn't it great? It has just the perfect number of points on it, and oh! Look at how this one is chipped off! Wow! I'm sure it'd make a superb brush for your fur."
Siegbert, with a sigh, averted his gaze. When he felt her hand take his and beckon him downward, he plopped onto the ground and crossed his legs. She walked behind him afterward, preparing the cone over his hair, which had become nappy from the intensity of battle. When she began dragging it over his head, he closed his eyes.
"Velouria..." he muttered after hesitation. "I'm not a Wolfskin, so the therapies that work for your kind may not work for me."
"Oh really?" She dragged the cone through a stubborn tuft. In doing so, she withdrew a quick yipe from her customer. "What works for you then? I don't think I've ever seen you upset enough to try hurting your friend. Why're you so mad?"
His head tilted back at the demands of the brush. The position gave him a good glimpse of the sky, so blue and clear. Not a single cloud mingled within such a deep pool of azure, which made it beautiful and worthy of lavishing. Not a single fiber in is body, however, would allow him enjoy it.
As far as he knew, that sky began to turn red.
"It's nothing worth the worry."
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, for, afterward, the cone ripped across his hair roughly. He winced.
"You know, Siegbert, I keep to myself a lot, so you can tell me whatever you want. Your secrets will always be safe with me." Her combing toned down as she spoke, for it climbed up to the topmost layer of his head. He had thick hair, which left a lot for the cone to work through.
Siegbert did not seem like the type to trust easily, but there happened to be something he liked about Velouria. The way her careless tone heightened, albeit slightly, testified in favor of her sincerity. It set him at ease for the moment...
Just for the moment.
"What do you think of Nohrians?" he asked.
"What do I think of them?"
"Yes. Do you think of them as evil?"
"I don't. Are you mad because you think they're evil?"
"Somewhat. I've been told of this history, this lineage, that I am proceeding; my grandfather, King Garon of Nohr, started this entire war for nothing but to quench his thirst for continental domination. I cannot stand myself anymore, for I have such intricate ties flowing within my inescapable veins. Intricate ties with that man... that monster." His eyes wandered around the woods. By itself, it put him at peace. "By fighting in this army alongside my father, by housing this Nohrian blood, by wearing this golden hair, am I practicing hypocrisy? Everything I do is for my country, so everything I have done up until now has been for my grandfather. As I said, I cannot stand myself, for my actions condone my grandfather's doings."
Velouria paused her brushing to lift the hand that controlled his head. She brought it to her mouth, where she ran her slimy tongue over its core and fingers. Upon finishing, the same hand, now coated in a thick layer of saliva, ran through Siegbert's hair, trailed by the comb. If Siegbert had known what she did, he would have protested. He remained in the blissful realm of oblivion.
"It sounds like you just need some help getting things straight in your head. What's the real question you're asking here? What does it mean to be Nohrian?"
His eyes brightened. Hers was a profound question, once lingering on the tip of his tongue, now exposed in the immodesty of light.
"Yes..." he mused. "That is what it is I am wondering."
"I'm not sure how to answer that myself, but there's probably a way we can figure it out." She brought a few fingers behind her fuzzy ear to scratch. "Wanna try to find the answer together?"
He peeked over his shoulder to gaze upon her. She did not seem to be joking, but he certainly had not been convinced enough to embrace the idea.
"There is not a need to waste your time on my plights. They're flapdoodle. See it that way as I do."
"I don't think it's flap-whateveryoujustsaid. I think it's important if it makes you upset. You're a mild-mannered boy, so it takes a lot to get you worked up. Are you in or out?"
Though he knew he did not deserve it, Siegbert could not decline the offer.